


The Other Life

by hereforthephilindafics



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 07, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforthephilindafics/pseuds/hereforthephilindafics
Summary: It could not be a coincidence. Or maybe being in 1973 was just another twisted game in what Phil Coulson would once call his life. Now, he wasn’t sure if it was a life, or if it was his.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	The Other Life

He shouldn’t do this. If something went wrong, the ripples could cause a wave that might drown them all. Phil told himself this multiple times, yet he still walked toward the quinjet that was a few yards away from the Zephyr. He barely slept, because he didn’t need to sleep anymore, and this urge had been getting stronger the longer he thought about the year they were in.

It could not be a coincidence. Or maybe being in 1973 was just another twisted game in what Phil Coulson would once call his life. Now, he wasn’t sure if it was a life, or if it was _his_. But the memories felt like they were. The ones he had been turning in his brain for the past few days specifically. How dangerous could it really be?

Phil walked onto the quinjet, grateful that Fitz had designed a full auto-pilot for it just like Z1. He entered the coordinates for Manitowoc, somewhere near the County airport, where he could land and cloak without attracting too much attention. The flight time indicator read two hours. He could go and be back before breakfast. He had told everyone he was retiring for the night, no one usually bothered him anymore, not even Daisy.

He strapped into one of the jump seats, holding onto the straps as the quinjet took off. Phil knew he should have felt some sort of fear about the plane having no pilot, but he knew that he could survive a crash. He stared at the seat in front of him for the entire flight. A few minutes before landing Phil activated cloaking. He stood as the quinjet landed softly.

Fog from Lake Michigan hung over the airport as Phil walked to the car rental. The guy behind the desk looked bored, barely acknowledging him. His interest returned when Phil rented the only Mustang available and paid him in cash, adding a little extra if he forgot the paperwork.

It was only a seven-minute drive from the airport to Arlington Avenue. Phil smiled when he passed the first Kwik Trip on the way. His mother used to always buy him candy at the convenience store when they went grocery shopping together. He realized he had never driven this route before, only remembered it from watching his father drive from the back seat.

Phil suddenly remembered that where Menasha Ave crossed with N 18th street, that street became a one-way and he couldn’t turn onto Arlington. He turned right onto N 21st and continued until the side street led him back to N 18th , left onto Fairmont street, and finally he had reached his destination.

He stopped the car in front of the crème-colored house with the garage in the back. Lola was out in the driveway, however. But she wasn’t Lola yet. She was just the car he hated because his father made him work on it every day while his friends played in the park. Phil sat in the Mustang. The dinning room light was on.

The neighborhood was quiet, mostly working class, too tired to be loud and rowdy during a work week. He noticed his mother had planted some flowers in the front lawn. After a while, the porch light turned on and the door opened, closing with a bang.

His father walked toward Lola holding the bag of tools in his right hand. He coughed a few times, clearing his throat. He was wearing his team’s football jacket with the slogan ‘fight on’ in big letters on the back. Phil blinked when he realized his father was not as tall as he remembered.

He popped the Corvette’s hood and leaned in, grumbling. A few of the tools clinked as he dug for something in the bag. Phil smiled, watching his father’s hands, covered in oil. His mother used to yell at him for wiping them on her good towels.

“Did you need something?” his father said, head still inside the engine.

Phil blinked. It wasn’t like he had tried that hard to hide. “Nice car.”

“Not done yet, will be better. Did you want to buy it?”

Phil smiled. He got out of the car but didn’t approach his father. It was dark, and he didn’t want to make him nervous. “Just admiring. I was driving by when I noticed it.”

His father nodded toward the Mustang. “That yours?”

“A rental.”

His father nodded. “Not from here?”

“Used to live here, moved when I was nine.”

“I have a son that age. He hates working on this junk.”

Phil shoved his hands in his pant pockets, so he didn’t fidget. “Great way to learn some skills though.”

His father snorted. “Yeah, well a nine-year-old would rather run after a football. He’s good at sports but he’s better at shoving his nose in a book. That boy will be a great teacher.”

Phil looked down. He suddenly felt like he was intruding, like this wasn’t right. But at the same time, he didn’t want to stop talking to his father. There was so much about him he didn’t remember, so much he had forgotten. Sometimes it felt like he had never met his father.

“He’s spending time with his father, that’s valuable. I lost mine pretty young.”

“That’s rough, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Phil nodded, smiling.

“You’re welcome to look closer. It still looks like shit for now, but she’ll get there one day.”

Phil let a few seconds pass before pushing off the Mustang. He walked to Lola slowly. Her paint was chipped and dull. He ran his hand across the passenger front door and up toward the windshield.

“She needs a good paint,” his father said.

Phil looked up at the man. His mother always told him he had his father’s eyes, but this was the first time Phil actually looked into them. As a child he had always looked down when his father looked at him. He wished he had looked him in the eye more often.

“You okay, man?”

Phil cleared his throat. “Yeah, just a little jet legged.”

“Let me get you a Coke, it’s pretty humid tonight.”

Phil watched his father walk back to the house. “Thank you,” he said at the last moment.

His father turned. “No problem.”

Phil felt the urge to warn him, say something, anything. Walk into the house and tell him to go to the doctor because he was from the future and he knew about the heart attack. Hint at something that might make his father wonder. Kidnap him and bring him back to the Zephyr, have Jemma save him and drop him off again, make it all look like a dream.

Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he was back on the table after New York, dreaming up another scenario not to let go. Maybe if he saved his father, he would never make it to New York. Maybe he would have his own house, with a picket fence, and PTA meetings. Maybe saving the future wasn’t worth it if he couldn’t save his father.

Phil walked back to the Mustang, drove down the street and toward the airport.

**Author's Note:**

> I could not stop thinking about how ironic it was that the Team jumped to 1973. Coulson is 9 years old in that year, and we find out in Season 2 that his father died when he was nine.
> 
> I really played myself but I had to write this short piece of angst.


End file.
